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Realistic-Fiction
Middle school
 
Middle school stories:
 
stories:
Friends or Enemies
by: Matthew Hohneker
1. The Guidance Counselor
 
 You walk off your bright, yellow bus, and into another dismal, rainyday of hate and distrust. One of your so called "friends" glances in yourdirection, and gives an overly-enthusiastic, cheery wave. All you can do
 
in return is give a slight smile back-which is no more than the twitchingup of the corners of your mouth. This is Middle School. You've always heard your parents tell youabout their High School years or College years, and you-just like everyother kid on the face of the earth-wondered, "But what about MiddleSchool years mom and dad?" Yes, what about Middle School years? Thelong, first years that starts it all; alliances, fights, and knowing of whoyour friends and enemies are. These are the "best years of your life"your parents tell you over and over again. Well, that is so entirelyuntrue. These are the worst of the worst. The time that you truly findyourself in society. The years that are a matter of a happy life in thefuture or an unhappy life. This is everyone's personal hell on earth.You hear the first bell ring for morning classes, and you hurry intothe school building, and to your locker. On the way there you run intoyour ex-best friend-now your greatest enemy. He trips you up, andthen shouts at you, saying, "You loser! Whore! Go to hell!" You feel down upon yourself for the remainder of the first few hoursof school, knowing that what he'd said was true. You had in fact kissedhis girlfriend.
But...but she...err...
, you think to yourself. No matter how many timesyou'd explained to him that she was the one who tried to kiss you first,he still believes his, now ex-girlfriend's story.At lunch you sit alone today, not eating, and listening to Green Day's"Boulevard of Broken Dreams" and Avril Lavigne's "When You're Gone."As you sit there, someone unfamiliar to you walks over to your table,and sits down to eat their lunch."Hi, I saw that you were all alone over here, and I wanted to see if you were okay. Are you okay," the mysterious boy asks you, and thenhe sees the way you're dressed. In complete black, with dark ringsunder your eyes, black as night hair with red highlights, that, at oneside, parts over one of your eyes. He stares at you in horror for tenminutes.You stare at him, and then realize what the boy must be staring atyou in horror for. You have a pin in your hand, and blood running downyour bare arm."Oh, I...I'm s-s-sorry for botherin' you. Please don't hurt me... I-Iwon't tell anyone, I s-s-swear," he stammers as he sees you jab the pininto your arm even harder in anger and frustration with him.
 
"Leave. NOW," you say coldly to him! Then you get up, and walk off to your next class. "That was humiliating," you mutter under yourbreath as you walk alone down the hall, your arm still bleeding, but youdon't feel the hurt or pain. All you feel is the anxiety of why your cutsdon't do what you thought they were suppose to do when you startedcutting; get rid of the pain and fear of life. They only made it a lotworse. They started new problems, and people started talking aboutyou behind your back, and before you knew it, you're called down tothe guidance counselor during English."Hello, Darrin. Please take a seat. I need to discuss a seriousdilemma about you," the guidance counselor says, and takes off hisglasses to clean them for about five minutes before finally looking in afolder with your name on it."Now, Darrin, I suppose you already know why you're here. Am Icorrect?" You just merely nodded, afraid that if you opened your mouth youwould start cursing up a storm and accusing people."Good, then we are on the same page. There are a few students whoare worried about your... your...
health problems.
" He emphasized thewords
health problems
in a strange way."I have been looking over your record. You have a clean slate, butprevious guidance counselors have had the same problem withstudents being afraid of you, too. Mostly because of the way you dress,your attitude, and those pins you like to play with," he professionallyspoke to you, which freaked you out because he chose his wordscarefully.
Very 
carefully, like he was dealing with someone who wouldsnap if you said the wrong thing. And probably, he was right. You didn'thandle people too well; especially ones you didn't like or didn't knowwell, but he knew you well, very well. He was your dad's best friend. They were in the army together, so you didn't know why he talked toyou like he did to every other kid in school; professionally, carefully,scarily."I thought we had some progress, Darrin," he stares you down, "Thelast time you were here, you were better, but now... you're worse. You're cutting again, Darrin. I thought you wanted progress?""Look, Mr. Carter, you told me that everyone has their own agenda.Now, why can't everyone see that my agenda is
my 
business," you sayto him, while pushing the pin in your arm at the moment even furtherin, "Why does everyone want to help me? I don't need help. What Ineed is for someone to understand me, and it seems that no one inthis school can do that for me." Then you get up, and walk out of the
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